Hello blogging world. It’s been months. Sorry about that. Again with the not keeping up stuff. I suck. SO, I’m finally read to talk. Maybe. Doesn’t matter because I have to talk. Type. You get it. If you don’t want nitty gritty details of the inner workings of the female body….mine specifically….close the window and don’t read any further. Also, buckle up, this is going to be a long one.

These last two months have been a whirlwind. September was suicide awareness month. Despite that, my husband and I both lost friends to suicide. It was a trying month for both of us. I made a difficult trip home to say goodbye to a friend I’d had for 20 years. It’s difficult to come to the realization that I’ll never again see his face or hear his voice. I’ve called his voicemail 2 dozen times just to get that last dose, but it doesn’t seem to help. For that reason, I quit calling his phone. My first night back in SC, living on base, 10pm was hard. At 10 PM they play TAPS over the loud speaker. It broke my heart hearing that for the first time since my friend’s funeral. It still breaks my heart a little every time, but it’s getting better. Recently I watched the Finn-centric episode of Glee and realized just how angry I was at my friend for doing what he did. The thing is, I have a deeper understanding for depression so I know what that feels like. I know the hopelessness and feeling like that is your only way out of a shitty situation that you are forced to call “life”. On that note, it does get better. I’m living proof that it gets better. Happiness is out there for you. It’s difficult to see it and only gets more difficult if you leave yourself untreated whether by medication or counseling. I promise, though, it does get better.

Now, onto October. On top of being Breast Cancer Awareness Month, it’s also Pregnancy, Infant, and Child Loss Awareness month.

I’ve been struggling with this for the last 6 months. Struggling on whether or not to actually write this or to just let it be. Especially this month. It has been in the back of my mind since October 1st, and I think it’s time to tell my story. Some of you that know me may know it, but for those of you who don’t let’s start from the beginning.

Back in February, I sat down with my hubby and told him that I wanted to come off birth control. After talking to my doctor he told me basically what I already knew…that it would take 6 months to a year for my body to regulate and for me to get pregnant, especially since I’d been on some form of birth control for the past 8 years. I told him I wanted to give my body a fighting chance to get regular so we could jump aboard the baby-making train when the time came. We were both comfortable with this decision and intended on using protection until the time came. February was to be my last pill pack. The way the pills were set up, I had short cycles. Week 1 was ovulation, Weeks 2 and 3 were nothing and Week 4 was shark week.

At work, we had a floorset near the beginning of March. After which, I had an unusually difficult time getting back on a normal sleep schedule. I had started developing migraines and I didn’t have much of an appetite. Not that I was getting sick, I just flat out wasn’t hungry. After doctor googling myself (because that’s what us anxiety ridden folk do), I chalked it up to just my body regulating hormones and weening itself off of birth control. A week and a half passed like this. Unable to sleep, unable to stay asleep, oversleeping, feeling utterly exhausted, and migraines. I was chatting with my mother and she asked how I was doing. I told her “Good except for this damn headache that won’t go away and the fact that I can’t sleep.” She laughed and jokingly said “maybe you’re pregnant.” I told her “Jesus mom…I’m not pregnant. I JUST came off birth control.” She laughed again said she knew and was just teasing me, but then followed it up with “The only thing that tipped me off about your sister was a headache. Well, that and a missing period…but mostly the headache.” I repeated myself insisting I wasn’t pregnant, she laughed again, our conversation went on as normal.

By week 2 with the constant migraine and sleeping issues, I had began to develop a little nausea. I also noticed that I was eating candy. I don’t generally eat candy unless it’s shark week. Again, I thought “nah…It must be PMS”. At 2 and a half weeks I went grocery shopping and my mother’s words and contagious laughter popped up in my head “maybe you’re pregnant”. I remembered the intimacy and the ovulation that started the next day. As I walked down the aisle with all the feminine products I laughed quietly to myself and thought “I’ll get a test anyway. I know I’m not, but screw it.” I went about my business and finished my grocery shopping.

I got home and unwrapped the pink stick, peed, and went about my duty of unloading groceries. When I had finished, I went back into the bathroom to throw the stick away and noticed not one, but TWO lines. I began to panic. “What the FUCK!?” I said out loud. I sent a picture to my friend that works in the clinic and she called me immediately. We discussed the candy, the headaches, the recent feeling of nausea, the trouble sleeping. I texted my husband and told him “Maybe I”m seeing things. I mean it’s pretty faint, but it’s there” He told me to leave it on the counter and he’d look at it when he got home. I was at work by the time he got home and he texted me saying “I don’t know why you thought you didn’t see two lines. It’s definitely there”. I came home, saw what he saw, two dark pink lines. Holy. Fuck.

That following Saturday, I tested again. It came up negative. We both breathed deep and decided that a test at the clinic was the only way to solve this. I made an appointment for April 1st. If I was pregnant, I initially found out at 2 1/2 weeks. I hadn’t even missed my period yet. That’s early. That’s crazy early. Possible, but early. Over the weekend I had worked myself up to it being a big fat NO. I went in, had my blood drawn, and they sent to me to the exam room, and told me to undress for my yearly exam. The doctor came in three separate times. First to ask me how late I was, “Only a few days at this point.” Second to ask me my symptoms, “Craving for candy, inability to sleep, migraines, and more recently nausea and tender breasts.” The third time she came in, she told me to get dressed because there was no need to do the yearly exam. I started to get angry. I thought she was just putting this off. As I got dressed I thought “she must have a reasonable explanation for this.” After I was dressed, a child started to cry in the room next to me, and I lost it. I pulled myself together just in time for her to walk in the room.

“So the test came back positive…”

“Yeah,” I said, thinking she was asking a question and not making a statement. “I had a positive and a negative home test.”

“No, honey. I mean the blood test here came back positive. You’re pregnant.”

“What?”

“you’re….pregnant…?”

“What the fuck!?”

“yep”

“Is this just some really cruel April Fool’s joke?”

*laughter* “No, it’s not. Do you want to see it?

“uh, Yeah…Can I?”

*grabs paper* “See there where it shows the test?”

“yes”

*points* “Right here where it says positive next to that number?”

“Yeah.”

“that’s the result.”

I started sobbing and just repeating “oh. my god.” and “holy fuck” and “wow…” I finally told her “I can’t be more than 3 weeks. That’s early to find out, right?” she agreed with me. I repeated my three phrases over again, she gave me tissues, asked me if these were happy tears, I nodded. I told her I had JUST come off birth control. I told he the date of the last pill I took. She laughed and called me Fertile Myrtle. Congratulated me and gave me script for prenatal vitamins. She referred me to a doctor that in a previous post I referred to as The Devil Clinic.

I rushed out to The Children’s place and bought a pink onesie and a blue onesie. I set up a display on the kitchen table for my husband to see when he came home for lunch. We laughed and cried. It was a strange moment filled with a lot of “Wow” and “huh” and “oh my god we made a baby”.

I received the referral and called The Devil Clinic. They initially refused to see me because I told them I had a pretty good idea of when I conceived but I wasn’t entirely sure. They said that since I wasn’t sure they didn’t want to see me for another 3 1/2 weeks. This being our first child, I didn’t know any better and just agreed to it. Over the next few weeks, my symptoms intensified. An attachment grew. We started planning things. We traded in the Camaro for a Subaru. We plotted how we were going to tell people. The more my symptoms intensified the more we began to wonder if perhaps I was further along than I actually was, but figured we’d find out at my first appointment. Meanwhile, under the impression I might be further along than that, we started to tell a few people.

One day I woke up feeling like utter shit. I curled up on the couch and watched TV, waiting to leave for work. I went to the bathroom and noticed some spotting. I knew spotting was normal, but this being my first pregnancy, I got scared. I sat on the couch wondering if I should call. I had a cramp, nothing intense, nothing more than the usual pregnancy cramps I had been experiencing. It didn’t raise any major flags in my mind until I passed a small clot. Tiny actually, but it still scared the shit out of me. So I called The Devil Clinic. I explained that my appointment wasn’t for another week, but that I was concerned. They cleared room for me on the schedule and got me in.

I went in, peed in a cup, they took vitals, and that my friends, was the beginning of a downhill slope. We sat in the exam room patiently waiting the doctor’s arrival, when a nurse came in. She asked me when my last menstrual cycle was and I told her. To which she responded with a cold “Well, I’m not sure why you thought you were pregnant because your test came back negative.”

I froze. For a second, I swore my heart quit beating. I told her “Uh, because I had a positive test.” She said “Was it a home test? Some times those things can be faulty” I came back with “It was a home test and a BLOOD test thank you. I am pregnant.” She came at me “Well, you’re not so I’m not sure what to tell you. Maybe something got screwed up? Should we proceed with a PAP smear?” I struggled to find words until I eventually started sobbing. This fucking woman had the nerve to tell me I was lying. My husband sat in the corner, silent. The nurse came over patted me on the knee exactly three times, stepped back and crossed her arms and asked again if we’d like to proceed with the yearly exam. I glared at her. Then she suggested that I continue to take the prenatal vitamins anyway even though I wasn’t pregnant, and according to her, never had been pregnant. I asked her to explain why I had been experiencing pregnancy symptoms if I never had been pregnant and told her if she was sitting there telling me I wasn’t pregnant, then I wasn’t going to be taking the horse pill that was my prenatal vitamin any longer. She suggested that I made the symptoms up in my mind and my period was just late. She told me that even thought I was never pregnant that taking prenatal vitamins is a good thing to be doing anyway especially if we were trying. She wanted to talk to us about options on what we can do to conceive. I looked at her, still sobbing and said “Are you really wanting to talk to me about conceiving right after you told me I lost my child!?” She said again I had never been pregnant and suggested for the third time that we do the PAP Smear. “ARE YOU KIDDING ME!?” I yelled. With that she said “well maybe I should give you guys some time. Let me know when you’re ready to do your yearly exam.” She left the room. My husband held me. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t stop shaking, and I couldn’t stop crying. This wasn’t happening. I didn’t make this shit up. There’s no reason a blood test would come back positive unless I was pregnant.

I had my husband call my work and tell them I wasn’t coming in. He came back in and was followed by the nurse who asked, again, “So are we ready to do the Pap Smear then?” I looked at her and said “NO! We’re leaving. I need to leave. I can’t be here anymore.” She patted me on the arm and said “We’ll just write this off as a nurse’s visit. Just keep trying. You’ll get pregnant eventually.” My husband supported my walking all the way out. Once we reached the curb outside I collapsed. He lit a cigarette for me and we sat on the curb. I sobbed “I want to go home. HOME home. I can’t….I can’t be here.” When we got home, I had the support of a few friends who came and brought me booze. I kept a brave face until they left, but once the door shut behind TF, I sobbed all over again.

Over the next few weeks I went through a shit storm with the Devil Clinic suggesting that I made the pregnancy up, telling me I wasted their time by doing an ultrasound, refusing to give me results of tests, lying to me, and lying to my PCM. Only one doctor through that entire experience there ever questioned what was going on. Sadly, I never saw her face again to follow up with her. The whole visit with her all she kept saying was that the timeline didn’t make sense and neither did my results. Still, she never shared my results with me. The day after my initial visit, I spiked a fever, I called my on base clinic and they suggested I see the civilian clinic. When I called them, however, they wanted nothing to do with me and told me I was probably just getting sick or it was the stress of the situation. Again, with this being my first pregnancy, I didn’t know that a fever could mean infection and I should go to the ER. So, I took their word for it and sat it out. Later that day, my PCM called me back and asked me how my fever was doing. I told her it was about the same but I took some Tylenol and had called the OB. The following day I got 4 calls asking me about how my ER visit went. I was confused. I didn’t go to the ER. No one told me to go to the ER. I didn’t know I was supposed to. My PCM and her nurse were LIVID. My PCM called me 3 days in a row to check on me to make sure my fever had broken and I wasn’t sick, but I never heard back from the OB about the fever at all. In fact it was never mentioned in my notes that I had called, and it was never mentioned that I said I had a fever. The only visit that was mentioned was when I went in three days after the bleeding started and the doctor did a physical exam. They didn’t notate in there that it was a physical exam to make sure everything was okay. They only notated that it was a routine PAP smear. There was nothing in there about our discussion on the doctor’s or my confusion. There were no notes about my negative urine test but blood test that showed hCG still in my system. We had to dig for that information. It wasn’t anything neither I or my PCM or new OB knew about until a month and a half later.

During the ultrasound visit, the tech kept saying things like “I think I see…” and when I said “what?” she said “oh nevermind.” She asked me if anyone had shared test results with me and when I told her no one had she offered to tell me. I said “Yes, please do.” She took one look at the paper, said “hm” and then never told me. I asked three more times and each time she changed the subject. In my mind all I can think is that they were covering their asses. The originally told me I wasn’t pregnant, only to find out that I still had hCG in my system so did everything they could to cover up their mistake instead of admitting to it. The day of the ultrasound I had just gone to the clinic on base per the request of my PCM to get blood drawn since the civilian clinic wasn’t communicating with them. After the ultra sound was finished, which I still don’t know the results of, whether she found anything in there or not, the tech told me to go get blood drawn there. We told her no because we wouldn’t ever be returning to the clinic. Her demeanor immediately turned sour and she told us that we had just wasted her time. She shoved some papers at us and told us to check out.

I finally got into the OB/GYN I wanted, and we went over everything start to finish. He was utterly baffled and completely disgusted by the way I was treated at The Devil Clinic. We discovered that by the time they had taken a urine sample from me, I had started miscarrying, making my pregnancy non-viable and an overall negative on their scale when they ran a qualitative test. Had they taken the time to do a quantitative hCG count on my urine instead of a qualitative, they would have seen that I still had hCG in my system. Instead, they didn’t want to deal with anyone that couldn’t give them business so they were as cold as possible to me. When I had my blood drawn at The Devil Clinic, they did quantitative, but never shared my results. My new OB/GYN was able to get down to reality of it and figure out what exactly was going on. I had a missed miscarriage. The fetus had probably stopped developing a week prior to the bleeding. That was when my symptoms started to get less and less. I asked him why I would still be having headaches and tender breasts. He told me that it’s still the hormone in my system screwing with my body and we just had to wait it out. He dug out the results of my blood test that my PCM took the week of my ultrasound and discovered my level was at a 3 that week. He took a blood sample in his office and it was at a 0. His anger and that of my PCM at the situation matched my outrage. How dare they tell me I was never pregnant? How dare they tell me I made it up? She vowed never to refer someone to that clinic again.

The whole mess finally sorted itself out. We discovered I was 6 1/2 to 7 weeks pregnant when I miscarried, which under normal circumstances is about the time women usually find out they are pregnant. My (current) OB/GYN was amazed that I found out as early as I did, but said it wasn’t impossible. The bad part about that was that if I hadn’t taken the test, I would have probably never known I was pregnant and would have just chalked it up to a late period because I was coming off of birth control. Conversely he congratulated me on being so in-tune with my body so that the next time I were to get pregnant, I would (ideally) know right away. We discussed the fact that fertility is obviously not something that we have to worry about because obviously I can get pregnant. (By the way…I got pregnant after 4 days with no birth control). We discussed previous diagnoses of PCOS and endometriosis and how these may cause problems. We talked about the RhoGAM shot and when that needs to be given. Lastly we talked about how we needn’t worry about this miscarriage until or IF it happens for a second or third time. I was able to go home for 2 weeks. I spent most of my time with my friends and paid little to no attention to my family. For that, I feel like an asshole. When I first had the opportunity to speak with my father, I explained to him the reason I came home was because I wanted it to stop hurting. I came home because I felt like I was suffocating. There was and still is an empty room in my house that was once plotted to be a nursery and I could barely walk up the stairs without wanting to set that room on fire. I needed to see my friends, and I needed to heal.

For a week I was practically catatonic and emotionally broken. I couldn’t eat and I couldn’t go more than 30 minutes without breaking down in tears. I blamed myself repeatedly even though I knew and know it wasn’t my fault. I couldn’t help but think “what if I had done this instead of this” about every little thing. No amount of comfort in the world could or can bring my baby back. Even sitting here typing this now makes me teary eyed. I would have been due in December, within days of our anniversary. Sometimes I have to tell myself that it was probably for the best. That there was and has to be a reason it happened, but that doesn’t make it hurt less. It wasn’t just me that lost a child that day, it was my husband too. He made himself be so strong for me and I will forever be grateful for that. He shouldn’t have had that sitting on his shoulders, but he did. I also feel the need to thank my wonderful co-workers. I am so blessed to have such a wonderful support system at work.

If there was anything to be learned from this, it was that we were a lot more ready for parenthood than we originally thought. The thought of being responsible for another human being is terrifying, but in that exact moment of finding out he was going to be a father, the joy on my husband’s face was undeniable.

In reality it wasn’t necessary to tell my story, and I’m aware of that. The reason I did it, though, was to give myself a little extra closure to a situation that still sucks every once in a while, and because it is the month for pregnancy, infant, and child loss awareness. I guess I’m also hoping my story may help someone else somewhere out there in their healing process as well. Six months later, my life continues and I’m doing quite well, my husband is doing well, and our life has returned to normal. It’s been a trying couple of months, but I’ve come to the realization that loss does happen regardless of what point you are in your life.

In regards to both situations of loss, I’ll say again that it does get better. It may take some time, the road will be rough, you’ll encounter stupidity and ignorance, but there are positive circumstances waiting for you on the other side. You just have to take it one day at a time.

Edit: A week after the miscarriage we ordered Chinese food and my fortune was this:

That night the hubby called his father to tell him what happened, and his father said the same thing without knowing what I had just pulled out of my fortune cookie. It brought me some comfort. It’s still hanging on our fridge

So after I wrote about my T.A.R.D.I.S. messenger bag I got a comment from a Miss Cymbria Wood nominating me for the Versatile Blogger Award (nominees please click said link for rules). Thank you, Cymbria! I’m not quite sure what to do or what this means, but I’m assuming it’s not quite as glamorous as The Oscars. Still, I’m flattered. Flattered to know that people read my rantings, random thoughts, and scribbles about my crafts. My blog is all over the place, but in my head filled with randomness it makes sense.

Next on the list, I need to tell my nominator 7 things about myself…lord…I don’t know if I know 7 things about myself. I mean I do, because…I’m me…but…what do I say? What to say…what to say….

1. Hipsters piss me off. Seriously. They piss me off. The other day, for example, this girl comes through my line and as I’m ringing her up, a song by Modest Mouse comes on. This girl is 20 years old, she’s dressed VERY nicely, carrying a Coach purse and shopping bag, and has an iPhone. I then hear her say, “I used to listen to Modest Mouse, like, back in high school,” I looked at her quizzically thinking “So like 2 years ago?” and she continues to say “But now they’re, like, too main stream for me.” Um, excuse me, but, and correct me if I’m wrong here, Modest Mouse is the most non-mainstream thing about this entire sequence. I think we have some Pretentiousil in the back. Perhaps I could could recommend you take some so you can stop acting like a douche. It’s not just that though. It’s pretty much everything. Like the belt around the tiny waist of a girl with a TERRIBLE hair cut that I saw one day. The hair cut I could have forgiven because we’ve all gotten bad haircuts that we thought looked awesome, but then I saw the belt. The belt had the word “SWAG” written all over it. I wanted to knock her on the floor and scold her like a dog. “NO! NO! BAD TEENAGER! NO!!!!!”

moving on….

2. OMG I LOVE LOST! Still? Yes, still. I was actually just talking to my oldest sissy about this last night. I’m pretty positive I’ve watched all the seasons from start to finish 4 times….or more. I’m currently doing the same with Doctor Who (new Who not classic Who.) It becomes this whole different level of nerding that seems almost foreign. On another note, my hubby and I discussed last night, after I realized how excited I got talking about Once Upon A Time, about “what he did to me.” Which we decided he did nothing to me but give me “new avenues of expression” for the nerd that always lived inside me.

3. I kind of dig video games. I played the occasional video game before we met. It was usually something Mario oriented. After we got married, he introduced me to how awesome(ly frustrating) video games are. I started playing God of War, Silent Hill, Fable (not so impressed with that one), Mortal Kombat, and a few others. I’ve been a bad gamer recently, though. I’ve been much to preoccupied with crafting.

4. I advocate for a healthy lifestyle. Exercise, eating well, etc. However, I do have my moments, for example; I broke my foot and haven’t been to the gym in a month and a half, or done anything active. I know I could do weights (the machines not the free weights) but I just haven’t gone. I also have my moments that I eat nothing but junk all day and feel like a fake for preaching about healthy living. Also, I smoke…which makes me feel equally guilty. Smoking is not only disgusting, but it’s bad for your health. I want to quit, but it hasn’t happened. I’ll get there.

5. I get along REALLY well with my family…which is apparently weird to some people. I mean REALLY WELL. We’re the type of family that will turn Groundhog Day into a family gathering. Our Christmases consist of the following schedule: Christmas eve we get together and start making cinnamon rolls. We watch movies, play games, eat chili, play games, watch more movies, go to Mass, watch another movie, play more games, go to bed. Christmas Day our day starts at 7 or 8 AM, we eat cinnamon rolls, have coffee, open stockings, open presents, drink more coffee (and maybe have another cinnamon roll), explore our presents, play games, prepare dinner/lunch, play games, eat, play games, eat some more, pay more games, watch a movie, play games again. </end day> We will take any chance we get to make the dumbest holiday a huge family get together. A lot of people don’t quite understand why, I can’t explain it. We’re just really close. We like each other a lot.

6. My husband is awesome, and anyone that doesn’t enjoy his company is insane. He can be immature, but he’s a boy. Boys are supposed to be immature sometimes, but he’s a fun kind of immature. Even when he does things that annoy the hell out of me, I look back on it and think “that was kind of funny.” It’s pretty cool being married to your best friend. For our story, if you wish, you can read it here or here.

and finally:

7. I like to think I can make allthethings, but I get discouraged easily. However, as you could see from my awesome T.A.R.D.I.S bag, I was successful with that. I have so many ideas running through my brain on things I want to make, but I haven’t started half of them. I want to, though. Some day perhaps I will. I also like to think I can manage 1,259,756,896,432,679 projects at the same time…I can’t. My ADD starts running rampant and I get confused.

So that’s me. Or a little bit of me, anyway. Thanks again! And to my nominees, have fun!

I move in and out of consciousness. Deep growls are intermittent with high-pitched, terrified screams of a child. I can feel myself being dragged and a familiar voice whispers “Stay with me. We’re almost there.” The fiery pain in my side is the only thing keeping me half awake. I feel the warm blood trickling down my side. I lift my head enough to see Emma trying fight and bite with every step we take. Though blurred, I can recognize enough of my surroundings to see the barren wasteland that I passed on my way earlier.

After what seemed like only seconds, I am lying on a cold floor while three people work hastily above me. I feel a needle pierce my flesh and my skin stretching to pull shut. A scream escapes my tired body, but I hear no noise.

“Give her something!” I hear

“What? What the fuck do you think we have that I can give her, huh?”

“S…stop” I whisper. “Just…let me sleep” And I’m out again.

_________________________________________________________

When my eyes open, the world around me is blurry. When it comes into focus, I notice the sky is a swirling bright blue with wispy clouds. I’m wearing a deep blue, knee-length dress, with a small-flowered print on the bust.

My husband lies next to me on the emerald-green field, staring at the sky. A child plays in the distance. I sit up, and run my fingers through the delicate grass. “Emma!” I call after the girl. I lean back onto my arm and turn my head towards my husband. He smooths some hair out of my face and gives me a gentle kiss. The girl comes running up, but when I look at her, I’m confused. My husband fades out, the world turns gray and desolate, and a fear rises in me. I can feel a painful tingle work its way up from my toes and centralize to a spot on the right side of my abdomen. Emma looms over me, her eyes glowing as she cackles.

I’m thrust back into reality. I’m sweating. A hand on each shoulder and one on my chest push me back onto the bed with force. “Slow down. It’s okay.” I adjust and realize that my husband is standing over me. “You’re okay, we stitched you up. We put the girl in a room by herself until we could get some answers.”

“You want an answer? She tried to fucking kill me.”

“You’re still a little loopy. We’ve been crushing some pain killers up and putting them in the soup we’ve been feeding you. Now that the wound is healing, I thought it best we let you wake up and manage the pain yourself. Give it some time. Maybe a few hours, and let yourself get out of the haze and we’ll see how you manage walking around.” The deep voice was unfamiliar. I turned my head to see a tall man with dark hair and bright green eyes standing in the corner of the room. The symmetry in his face was unbelievable. His athletic build, pale skin, and stone chiseled features gave him an Adonis-like complex, though everything about him screamed “I could kill you if I wanted.” Upon surveying him, I noticed a faded tattoo peeking out through the V he ripped into the collar of his t-shirt, and a gold band on a chain around his neck. His eyes burned into me, waiting for a response. All I could do was stare. “Name’s Anton. Your crew stumbled across me at the pharmacy. I was looking for drugs, they were looking for food. Seemed we could help each other out after he”, Anton nodded at my husband, “came in screaming about you taking a blade to the stomach. Barely missed your kidney. You’re a lucky lady”

I shot my husband a wary look. “As far as we know he checks out.”

“They don’t let me go very far without someone poking a rifle in my back,” Anton glared at him. “Come on. Let’s give her some time to wake up.”

My husband kissed me on the forehead, squeezed my hand, and they both walked out of the room. When the door shut, I gave myself a few minutes to become more aware of my surroundings, and made sure they weren’t coming back in. I spotted my pants on the floor in the corner adjacent to where Anton was standing. I slowly sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed. Ignoring the throbbing sting in my midsection, I pulled on my pants and checked the side pocket for the small hunting knife I usually carried with me. Gone. I looked around and caught the glimmer of something on the floor. A piece of broken glass from a mirror that used to hang on the wall. I picked it up and headed out towards the door.

I knew they had to be holding her somewhere close. This wasn’t a very big building. As I exit the room, I finally realize that I’m not wearing a shirt. Respectfully, they left my bra on, but the only other thing covering my skin was the bandage below my rib cage. I didn’t much care at this point. I walked silently through the hall in search for a sign of where this girl might be hidden away.

As I pass a room, I heard a scratching noise. I take a couple of steps back and see a small hand reaching under the door. My eyes narrow, my face tenses with animosity, and I reach for the door knob. Her fingers run along my toes, and a jerk my foot back. In one swift motion, I throw the door open, her body is flown against the wall, and I have her pinned to the floor with the shard against her neck. As she struggles, I yell “Don’t you fucking move!” She snaps at me and laughs. I punch her square in the nose, but this just provokes her. “Poor little Emma. Helpless and alone? No one is going to fall for that anymore.”

Three pairs of footsteps come bounding down the hall. My distraction gives Emma the advantage and she thrusts me backwards. My husband, father, and Anton come hurdling towards us. My father grabs Emma, and my husband and Anton pull me away. I see Emma struggling in my father’s grasp. My husband holds me down while Anton leaps over to Emma and stabs a needle into her thigh. She falls limp in my father’s arms. He pushes her off to the side and she moans slightly.

I look down to see the bandage that was dry is now dripping with blood. “It would have been worth it if you assholes hadn’t stopped me!” They stare blankly at me. “I could give a shit less. There is something wrong with that girl! She shouldn’t be roaming around here. She’s one of them!”

Anton walks over to me and picks me up off the floor. My husband and father sit there, still panting. I dust my pants off. “Come on, let’s go stitch you back up.” I follow Anton back to the room I was sleeping in, and sit on the bed. “What happened that would make you want to kill a child?” he asked while gathering the needle and thread.

“That’s no child.” I responded. “Did you look at her eyes?” He shook his head. “Amber. Like the rest of them. She fooled me into thinking that she was alone, frightened, and an orphan. She’s the one that stabbed me. She’s one of them. Different somehow, but one of them. We can’t have her here. We need to take care of her. If you three hadn’t barged into that room the way you did, I would have solved that problem. You had to be a hero though didn’t you.” I shake my head.

“Oh. I’m the hero?” He sits next to me on the bed. “Meanwhile, you think you can solve our zombie problem on your own.” He pushes the needle through my skin.

“Fuck, man! I don’t get numbing or anything?”

“Not after the stupid shit you just pulled in there.” I roll my eyes and look away, but he continues, “Listen. I agree with you. She’s nothing but trouble. I didn’t believe a word that came out of that…thing’s mouth. Well, what little did come out of her mouth. She doesn’t speak too well, but damn it, she’s fast. Strong, too. One person in your group is holding this whole process up, otherwise she’d be dead for good, by now.” I grit my teeth and moan with discomfort. “One more stitch and we’re done.”

“Who’s holding up the group?”

“Hm?

“Who’s holding up the group from killing this thing? I can take care of it, I just need to know who.”

“Doesn’t matter. Just sit tight and I’ll go make sure that girl is confined.”

“Just tell me who it is.” Anton is silent. His hand reaches up to his mouth and he rests his elbows on his knees. “Anton. Please. Help me out.” Nothing. “Fine,” I say as I stand up, “I’ll figure it out myself.”

“God damn, you’re stubborn.”

I find a tank top on the floor and pull it on. “Well I figured, a guy like you that only looks out for himself would want to get rid of this thing as much as I do, but maybe you have another motive. Another angle. You see one of my sisters or something, you think you might like her, want to take her with you and repopulate the world. Who knows. I know your type.” I pull my boots on while he sits in silence, clearly contemplating something.

As I reach the door, he finally opens his mouth. “Your husband.”

“Excuse me?” I turn around to face him. “Say that again.”

“Your husband is the one holding us up. Maybe your oldest sister a little too, but not nearly as much as your other half.”

I look away, close my eyes, and take a deep breath. “I’ll handle it.” I say with a hint of fury. I walk out of the room and head down the hallway with a purpose. If anything was certain at this point in time, it was that I know I was going to punch him until he was out cold.

Hey folks! I’m aware it’s been a while. We got so caught up with the wedding stuff that nothing happened for us for a month or so! The wedding was a success. it turned out beautifully!

Anyway, here it is.

For months, I listened to my husband tell me I had too many clothes. I had too many pairs of jeans. he always told me that I had way more than he did. I offered to buy him clothes given my discount at American Eagle, but he declined. He was happy with having as little clothes as he did. He complained ever so slightly when my clothes took up a majority of the tiny closet space we had when we moved into our house, and seceded his closet space in the bedroom for the closet space in his office. (which by the way, he also filled up).

Now, granted this may be true. I do have A LOT of clothes, but I managed to weed out a lot of stuff before we moved to SC, and I’ve actually gotten rid of some items since we’ve moved here. Since I’ve lost a little weight, I’ve managed to get rid of much more. He was still insistent that I had more jeans than he. I currently have 4 pairs of jeans. One of which was acquired quite recently because, like I said, I’ve lost weight and didn’t really have a pair of jeans to fit. I now currently have two pairs of jeans that fit and two that I keep around because they’re my “lazy jeans.”

I did some laundry this morning, and much to my surprise, I discovered that my husband, in fact, is full of shit. As I was folding laundry and started to put things away, I noticed that I had folded at least five pairs of his jeans and two of mine. Two pairs of jeans that fit me, that I wear on a regular basis, and he has at least eight pairs of jeans that he wears. He tried to throw at me that he only wears two of those pairs, which I graciously threw back in his face how many I had folded this morning. I’m throwing the bullshit flag right now.

I still have clothes in my closet that I know I don’t wear enough to merit keeping. I know I can give them away or do something with them, but come on! Be on my side for a minute here. I feel totally vindicated right now, meanwhile, he’s trying to defend himself with some lame ass excuse like “but I don’t wear all of them.” Which is also a lie. LIES!

It’s not important. But know this! The next time he tries to tell me I don’t need another pair of jeans, I’m going to pull out every pair he has…and every gray sweater…and THEN he can tell me I don’t need to go shopping!

I think that he secretly likes clothes as much as I do and is just too afraid to admit it. Whatever you do, don’t listen to him when he tries to tell you differently.

I remember it perfectly. It was nice afternoon in May. I was driving around town on the scooter, and I was enjoying the weather. I stopped at the bank to make a payment on my car loan and as I was walking out, two classmates, still in high school, pulled up. They got out of the car. We chatted a little bit about this and that, and right when I mounted my scooter, the girl said “Oh my God, Kelley! Did you hear about Casey?” I asked “Casey who?” she told me. I said, “uh…no? What happened.” At this point my heart was already racing. I knew it had to be something bad because of the way she had slouched down and got really close to me. She got quiet and said, “He overdosed. We don’t know on what, we were told it wasn’t on purpose.” I was stunned. “So, what does that mean? Is he in the hospital?” “No,” she said. “He died.” I had no response but a simple “oh. Wow.”

I almost didn’t believe it. I went home, I got on the internet, and sure enough there it was on Facebook and (at the time when I had it) Myspace. It was staring me in the face. I didn’t know how to handle it. Utter shock. I told my parents. I called my friends. Then, I went about my day. Every once in a while I would blurt out “this is crazy.” It wasn’t until the next day when I woke up thinking “That was an awful dream” that I realized it was real. I tracked down his mother’s phone number and called her when I got off work. I spent an hour and a half sitting in my car talking to her and sobbing. It wasn’t until I started talk to her that I realized that day in particular was the day we had made plans. We were going to get together when I got off work, have a picnic, go shopping, and end it with drinks since his birthday wasn’t but a few days before that.

She told me that when we had gotten in a huge fight that threatened to end our friendship he was heart broken. That when we rekindled our friendship he was overjoyed. That he talked about me to them every time we had seen each other. She told me that she knew just from that that I was important to him. That I was a major part of his life. She knew we had had plans because he had told her we were going to hang out that day. It was at that point that my heart broke in half. I had no idea that I meant that much to him. To this day, I still wish I had expressed to him more what an influence he was on me.

When I was having issues we had talked and he had reminded me of a song that had come out when we were younger that had connected the two of us. Follow Me by Uncle Kracker. He told me that no matter what the situation, that no matter what the circumstances, to hear that song, to sing it to myself, and to know that he was pulling for me. That he was thinking of me. That he would always be there. I fought tooth and nail to go to his funeral, but I was unable to get the day off at one of my jobs. The day of his funeral, I woke up and heard that song. I heard it on the way to work, and during the few short hours I was at work, I heard it twice. My boss had no idea why I was emotional and pulled me aside. I explained to him the conversation that had happened between me and another manager about me having that day off to go to the funeral and how I wasn’t granted the day off. He graciously sent me home, but at that point, it was already too late for me to go. The funeral had already started. I got in my car to go home and the song was on again. I sobbed the rest of the afternoon, and spent that evening feeling a little dead inside.

Whether or not you’re a believer in spirits, what happened to me 2 days after the funeral goes as follows: I had fallen asleep on the couch while I was watching a movie. I remember hearing a door quietly open and then quietly close. I opened my eyes slightly to see a shadow, the TV turned off, and I felt pressure on the couch next to me. A hand touched my arm, I heard the words “It’s okay, Kelley. I know you loved me,” and the blanket came up over my shoulder. I fell back asleep but shortly afterwards woke back up, thinking it was a dream, until I got my bearings and realized the TV was off, and the blanket was covering my shoulder.

I spent the next couple of weeks talking to his mother on and off and crying with her. I went out to his grave multiple times and put flowers out there and “talked” to him. Over the course of a year I heard Follow Me many more times than I ever had. When a year had passed, my father went out to the grave site with me as comfort. When I arrived, his whole family was there. We hung around and chatted for a while, and as usual, I began to cry. I told his mother how I felt like I didn’t get to say good bye. How I was angry that I didn’t make it to his funeral. How he had died 2 days before we had planned to hang out for the first time in weeks. She reassured me that he knew he was in my thoughts. She told me about the experiences that she had with seeing him at the end of the bed. I told her about what happened. She laughed and said “He’s just making his rounds.”

Years later, I still find it difficult. This last may was the first time I was unable to make it to his grave since we’re in South Carolina. I requested for my father to put flowers on his grave for me. I called his mother and asked her to say a few words for me. We talked and cried more. There have been so many times that have been difficult for me that Follow Me has come on the radio or played over the speakers in a store and I felt comforted. I know deep down that it’s luck of the draw. That it just happened as a result of randomness, but something in me still pokes and says “No, it’s Casey.” The last time I went to his grave. I pulled up and to the church graveyard and the song started. I sat in my car for the duration of the song, and then got out and placed the flowers on his grave. After I said a few words, I left and Ceelo Green’s, Fuck You came on the radio. I had this vision of him sitting in the passenger seat and the two of us singing our hearts out to it. That was him.

Why is it though, that after all these years, I still can’t come to terms with it? Is it really just because I feel like I didn’t get my good bye? Is it because I feel cheated on closure? At some point the tears have to stop. At some point the grieving needs to end. But when is that? How long does it take to grieve over someone? How long does a person need to get over a death? I know everyone is different. I have been to many funerals and no death has hit me quite as hard as this one. It has been 4 years now and he’s still in my thoughts. I still feel him.

I just came from the ER to get my stitches removed. As I was leaving, I began thinking of all the things I need to do for the wedding still and how I don’t feel like I have any time. I was thinking “I just want to put this in someone else’s hands. I just want to be done. I am SO STRESSED” and what song comes on the radio? Follow Me. I laughed. I teared up. I sang along. I felt better. The closer I got to home, the more I got thinking on this topic and how I wish he could be there. Exactly how long does it take. How can I still feel the sting after 4 years?

I’m not sitting here blaming myself. I ‘m not sitting here say “oh, poor pity me.” I’m just trying understand the reasoning behind it. He’s here. I know he’s here. Even if not as much as he was. I know he’s still here, and I don’t want to lose that. I don’t want to be disconnected from him forever. Maybe that’s it. I know I’ll be 100% okay with it some day, but for right now, I have to settle for 90%. Some day that other 10% will be filled with the feeling of being okay.

I’m not saying it affects my whole life, but it’s just that 10% of my year that my thoughts are filled with “why him?” or something to that effect. For now, I know that my day will be good. I know I have hope for the day all because of that song, and I’m okay with that.

As time draws closer to the wedding I begin to get jitters. Not the regular “oh my god I’m going to get married” jitters because we’re already married, but the “oh my god what if this whole thing falls apart” jitters.

There are still things that I feel like need to get done that aren’t and I’m not entirely sure where to start. I have a month and a half to finalize everything. I had hopes that I would have more replies by now, but I don’t and I realize that’s normal. Still, I wish I had a final head count and I know for a fact I’m awaiting replies from people who I’m unsure are coming or not. We have to contact that caterer and give her a final head count so that we know how much we’re spending and she knows how much food to make. I still haven’t given my DJ the deposit, and I’m pretty effing sure I’m going to have to use my credit card for the $200 I owe him because I’m broke.

I made some sugar scrubs. I spent $80 on the ingredients and got home and realized i didn’t need as much as I bought, so now I have a new goal for Christmas presents since I am up to my elbows in lotions, essential oils, and coconut oil. They turned out pretty freaking well and after the first one I kind of just went with it and made up my own little recipe. I’m proud of myself. I know it’s not a big feat, but it’s something I’ve never done before and I thought it turned out pretty awesome. I kept left overs for myself, and gave my first one to our neighbor so we could be guinea pigs together.

As it gets closer to the wedding, I’m trying to think of MORE ways I can save us money, but at this point I’m not sure if it’s possible. Right now all we need to worry about is paying all our vendors….there’s no more money-saving we can do with them since we’ve already cut back so much. I wish I knew more people who I knew would volunteer or do this shit for free. Partly because I’m cheap, mostly because I’m broke.

So while I’m putting together the bridesmaids gift baskets or whatever you want to call them. I’m trying to find the cheapest, cutest, cheesiest things I can. I found some wine glasses at Wal-Mart. South Carolina souvenirs that I’m pretty sure I’m buying because they’re awesome and dumb. At the same time, I’m trying to think of gifts to give the woman who is doing our vows. We were never able to get her a gift back in December, so I want to make sure it’s a good one. Speaking of ceremony…I still haven’t looked over the options for the ceremony, I haven’t gotten our sand or the vases for it, and I haven’t emailed the DJ about our songs.

I also need to figure out gifts for our ring bearer and flower girl, and put together little coloring books for the kids that will be there. On top of that I need to buy ink pads for our thumbprint tree and buy a pen for the actual guest book. AND we need to get hand wipes for our guest to clean their fingers after they’ve done so. I know these are little things that can wait but I can’t help but freak out ever so slightly. The bridezilla in me is scratching the surface.

The hubby thinks, and I agree, that about 4 days before the wedding she will break her way through. I don’t think that she will be the one that will be sitting there saying “I’m the bride do what I say.” but she’ll be an emotional wreck and in an awful mood. I. Can’t. Wait. I’m going to work my ass off to make sure she doesn’t scratch her way to the surface, but I can feel it boiling deep inside me like a demon that needs to be exercised.

I explained to my mother that every day I am home that I am going to have to carefully plan out each day. I have favor jars to buy, apple butter and candied pecans to make, paper airplanes to make, noise makers and glow sticks to buy, kegs to buy, menu for the rehearsal dinner to finalize, finish the bridesmaids gifts, finish our officiant’s gift, communicate with our vendors, and I still need to buy the cake topper and my garters.

It’s a picture of how “well” my day went. First of all, I write to you this evening not from my laptop buy from my husband’s laptop…just to give you an idea.

I couldn’t sleep worth a damn last night so needless to say, I had a hard time getting up this morning. I was able to crawl out of bed, sleepy, cranky, and rarely hopeful for the day ahead. Regardless, I put on a smile, poured my coffee, and made my way to work.

Not one minute after I turned into the parking lot, I received a phone call from my husband that went a little something like this:

T:Uh, not to add to your stress or anything, but I got some bad newsMe: Oh, god…what happened?
T: uh…Sophie sort of…peed…on your lap top.
Me: WHAT THE FUCK! ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME!?
T: uh…she also peed on your crocheting
Me: OH MY FUCKING GOD! Does my lap top still work?
T: I think so…hold on (he checks) Well it turned on.
Me: good freaking god! GAH! That fucking piece of shit cat!
T: Hey Kelley….maybe we should get rid of her.

So started the shit storm. I got even more upset. I sent an angry text to the hubby, not aimed at him, just angry in general, asking him to call the vet. He called me back to tell me that my laptop was soaked. I asked him to check it again, and he reported that it wouldn’t turn on. So started the tears. He again suggested that we should get rid of the cat. I hung up with him after he tried to calm me down and it didn’t quite work. He needed to go to bed, I needed to cry in peace. I sat in my car for five minutes bawling. I picked myself up, and walked inside.

After going in, I started to get concerned that my associate wouldn’t show up since it was already past the time she needed to be there, and I wasn’t quite sure if she remembered that she needed to work at 8AM. I called her, and as soon as I hung up, there she was standing at the door.It was possibly the the most uplifting thing about my day. She later said to me, without me explaining why I was having a bad day, “A day above ground is a good one. Remember that, Kelley.” That made me feel a little better considering the circumstances, you know, the time of year and all. ANYWAY, after that I found something I’m not entirely sure I was supposed to see, I couldn’t get more than one of the documents that I needed to print, found out, almost too late, that I needed to go make a deposit at the bank, realized I didn’t have any cigarettes left, and when we got back from the bank, somehow my coffee fell off the counter and splattered all over the floor my associate had just mopped, I cried even more. My only source of caffeine and only way to keep myself remotely agreeable for the rest of the morning, was lying in sporadic puddle on the floor. I stepped into the back about four times to cry, unbeknownst to my associate and assistant manager.

The reason for the tears, however, was not the little things that kept going wrong, it was 2 really big things. The second biggest issue was my laptop. EVERYTHING is on my laptop. Pictures, contracts, wedding stuff, pictures that haven’t been downloaded/uploaded. All sorts of shit. I’m upset about that, but hopeful the computer repair shop can pull my hard drive and get all my…everything…off my computer.

The biggest reason for my tears was the prospect of getting rid of Sophie. I frankly don’t give a shit how stupid it sounds to any of you. I understand she’s just a cat. She’s just a pet. I get it. The thing is, I started thinking about the fact that I owe her everything. I told you all before the story of how I came across miss Sophie Ann. It was cold, really cold. Below zero type of cold. She was a stray. She was skinny and hungry and just wanted love. I couldn’t bear it anymore so I took her in. What got me was this: if I had ignored her, if I had just left her in the cold, she would have stayed outside, scavenging for food, and probably would have died. She was being fed by neighbors, but she needed more than that. She needed a home. She was still a kitten and she already had frostbite on her ears.

How could you turn your back on a creature like that? I know she’s ruined my laptop, I know she has peed on my crocheting, but even through all of that I’d rather find a solution to it than give her up. I can’t get rid of her. She’s a part of me. She’s done things that under normal circumstances would result in any person giving their pet away, but I’m not a normal person. I can’t justify taking her to a shelter when I’ve invested so much time into her; when I took her in, out of the cold, and nursed her back to health. The thought of her going to a home where she won’t get the love and attention she deserves kills me. Even more so, the thought of her leaving that home for a pound and being put down because no one will adopt her, kills me even more. She deserves a good life. She’s been uprooted four times. She doesn’t need to be uprooted again.

I was talking to my mother while I was awaiting the doctor, and told her I had learned that when a cat rubs against something, including a person, they are marking it as theirs. It’s their territory. When I first encountered Miss Sophie, she did this to me. She rubbed against my legs, she jumped in my lap, she rubbed against my chest, she purred, she nuzzled. She claimed me. I was hers. (Just explaining this I’m getting emotional) Sitting in the vet office, after sobbing to the vet about how I was at my wits end but couldn’t get myself to give her away, Sophie climbed out of her kennel and proceeded to rub against my legs. She jumped in my lap and curled up the way she used to when she was a kitten. She reminded me why I loved her so. I explained to the vet what had happened, explained that whenever I was upset, crying, or sick, she would coddle me in her own special way. I told her that sitting there waiting for her she did just that. She sensed something was wrong. I think she knew she had screwed up. Long story short (oops…too late), the vet gave me some ideas and some medication for her just in case her UTI hadn’t cleared. The way I explained it to the hubby went a little something like this: She is mine. I am hers. So again, how can you abandon that? How can you turn your back on an unconditional love. I’m the closest to a mother she’s known since her owners threw her out in the cold. As I sit here typing, she’s rubbing against my ankles. She is now confined to my office with her food and two litter boxes in hopes of retraining her to use the litter box. Hopefully something works. She can’t leave me. I can’t leave her.

MOVING ON. After the vet appointment, I dropped her off at the house, grabbed a dress to return, my laptop so I could take it to Best Buy, and left the house again. I cancelled my crochet group so I could get this stuff done and because I was pretty positive I wouldn’t make good company tonight. Best Buy was my first stop. I walked in, walked over to the Geek Squad counter and the following ensued:

me: I have a question. I have had a bad day and I desperately need some good news (insert smile)
associate: Okay…what can I help you with?
me: My computer doesn’t work. I need to know if it’s covered through my protection plan from when my parents purchased it.
A: what happened?
me: it got wet
A: how’d it get wet
me: (slight awkward laugh) well…my cat urinated on it. (cat currently has UTI)
A: (laughed at me) Well it’s not going to cover that.
me: is there anything you can do? Can you pull the hard drive? Something? All of my stuff is on here. All of my wedding stuff is on here. EVERYTHING is on here.
A: (laugh again) Just because your cat decided to use the bathroom on your computer doesn’t mean I’m going to help you. That sucks. Sorry.
Me: (astonished…starting to get irritated) There has to be something you can do. I just need some help. Point me in a direction.
A: (rolls eyes) *sigh* where did you buy it?
me: it was purchased in Rapid City, South Dakota.
A: (sarcastically) well that doesn’t help me. I need a number.
Me: (gave him the number for the Best Buy store in Rapid)
A: It’s not popping up. Sorry (started to walk away)
Me: uh…Can you look it up somehow? Rapid City, South Dakota.
A: (sarcasm again) Ma’am, listen. It doesn’t work like that. I don’t know what to tell you.
Me; I just need you to point me in the direction of someone ANYONE that can help me. EVERYTHING and I mean EVERYTHING is on this computer.
A: Well you could take it to the computer repair shop I guess. It’s in the shopping center over that way.
Me: Okay. Thank you.
A: Just don’t tell them what happened to it *muffled* that was a stupid thing to do
Me: Excuse me?
A: I’m just saying.
Me: so basically you’re telling me that if I hadn’t told you what had happened with my computer, you would have helped me?
A: well…pretty much. I could have taken it and sent it in, but they would have run tests on the liquid and it would have come back as something other than coffee, tea, or water, and you wouldn’t have gotten anywhere. But yes, I would have taken it. Just because your cat decided to urinate on your computer doesn’t mean I have any right to fix it.

He then walked away. I stood at that counter for a couple more minutes, waiting for him to return because I, stupidly, thought he was trying to further assist me, but he came back out of the back room, he saw me, rolled his eyes at me and walked the other way. I proceeded to stand up straight, completely pissed off while the other associates stared at me. I furiously zipped up my laptop bag and walk out of the store. Save for two times I’ve been in that store, I haven’t been helped properly. I’ve been met with sarcasm, laziness, and them outright ignoring me. I’m talking, I walk in, they see me, and they turn around and walk in the other direction type of ignoring me. The only two times I’ve actually been helped was when the hubby and I bought our washer and dryer and when I went and bought our digital camcorder. This was the last straw for me.

After telling my mother what had happened, she got online and talked to the Geek Squad through an online chat on bestbuy.com, and within 5 minutes they were able to pull up my warranty and find out if I was still covered. FIVE FREAKIN MINUTES it took him to pull this shit up and the guy in the store “couldn’t find it” because he couldn’t locate the Rapid City store on his computer. She offered to call corporate or send them a “nasty email” and as grateful as I was to her for her help, I told her no. I’m a big girl, I can handle it myself, it happened to me, and it would be better coming from me since I was actually involved. I got online and tried to send an e-mail and it didn’t work, so I just called the corporate office. I didn’t want to mess with the manager of the store because…well I just didn’t. I explained to the lady on the phone that I wasn’t looking for a handout, I didn’t want anything for free, and I didn’t want any coupons. I simply wanted to explain to her what happened so it could be communicated to the store that they probably lost a customer because their Geek Squad agents are incompetent assholes.

The tip of the iceberg was when he laughed at me. He flat out laughed at me, like it was my fault it happened. It was a “you’re an idiot” laugh. I told the customer relations lady that his whole attitude was unprofessional, that he made me feel like it was my fault that cat peed on it, and he more rubbed it in my face than actually tried to help me. She interrupted me at one point saying “wait, wait wait. Now, hold on a second. Did he even answer ANY of your questions or did he just act like an ass the whole time?” I told her “No, not really. He just rubbed it in my face the whole time I was attempting to communicate with him. The most he gave me was ‘well you could try the computer repair shop I guess.’ The man called me stupid. I’m pretty sure actually giving me anything constructive was the last thing on his list.” In the middle of me telling this story to my hubby, I had to interrupt him from calling the store to tell him I had already contacted the corporate office.

I did tell the woman that while I’ve only ever made one complaint before, so I NEVER do this, I could honestly be doing this because I’ve had a shitty day, but it just all seemed a little off to me to let it go unnoticed. I told her that I’ve worked customer service for years and no matter how bad of a day you’re having, like mine for example, you still put on a smile, explain policy, and help out the best you can. I don’t give a shit if he was supposed to get off work in five minutes or if he just got there. His job is to assist customers and he did the exact opposite. My point was and still is, he was sarcastic, rude, and one of the most unhelpful employees I have ever encountered. The woman on the phone said that it’s probably a good thing I brought it to their attention because who’s to say that 10, 15, or 20 other people didn’t have the same problem with the store or this associate in particular and didn’t report it. I was assured it would be handled accordingly. At current I’m trying to locate the Best Buy that’s in Summerville so I can make sure I don’t ever go back to the one on Rivers ever again. Too many times I’ve gone in there and either witnessed associates fighting with each other on the floor (I mean fighting…calling each other names, cussing, and yelling type of fighting) and I’ve been treated rudely. The biggest reason I continued to go back there was because I didn’t know there was another one close by and I knew where this one was. I didn’t need to go searching for a store in a place I’d never been. I wanted needed someone to know what was going on.

Using your resources and remembering vendors you’ve either used before, or have heard of. This might be repetative, but it’s true. Don’t be afraid to ask your friends. Just Don’t. FORGET. TO. THANK. Don’t be afraid to ask for what kind of special discounts your vendors can offer either. This includes military and so many units over a certain number, etc…whatever.

I have a friend that is going to school for graphic design (I think), and he made a comment one day about making my invitations. Together, through a series of e-mails, Facebook messages, and talks over coffee, we came up with the perfect set of invitations and response cards. He’s also going to be our only usher at the wedding and I’m thrilled he’s a part of the ceremony in more than one way.

Yes they’re plain, but they’re perfect for us. I added a rhinestone in the middle of the flower on the invitation and some ribbon on the left side and they turned out fantastic.

I have another friend that is making our wedding programs. I don’t have a picture of them currently because we’re still communicating on how we want them to look.

When we decided to do this in South Dakota, we remembered that we have a mutual friend that works at The Canyon Lake Chophouse. They have amazing food. I THINK he got us a bit of a discount, but I’m not 100% sure. Carrie’s been great about keeping in touch with me so we can figure out how much food we need, what kind of food we want, and when we want food served.

Last year, my sisters and I got a cake from Piece of Cake for my parents’ anniversary party. It was delicious, it wasn’t your regular bakery store cake. I don’t quite know how to explain it, but it wasn’t overly sugary, and their filling options are awesome. Her communication with me on what exactly I want is phenomenal.

I know a girl whose mother is a preacher. She married us in December, and she was my first thought when we decided to do our wedding in South Dakota.

Utilize your talents. Whether it’s scrap booking, crocheting, knitting, or crafting things by hand. I of all people know this is a huge undertaking, but it’s 100% worth it on a number of levels. It adds a bit of uniqueness to your wedding, it gives you sentimental keepsakes, and your guests will be impressed by how much time you invested.

Now, the 4 tools I invested in, that at the time were the best use of my money I could think of, why four should be your max, and why I no longer use them:

A wedding planning book. It’s like a day planner for your wedding. It’s awesome

a book called 1,000 Best Secrets For Your Perfect Wedding.

Real Simple Wedding magazine

Martha Stewart Weddings magazine

Now when we first started the wedding planning process, these four items were the most amazing things in the world. I probably looked at them all 5 times a day. I was able to get ideas. I was able to form an idea. I was able to visualize our wedding. I added a note book to the mix so I could get all of my collected thoughts and wants in one place. I filled 20 pages front and back with things I wanted to do during the ceremony, during the reception, music I wanted and didn’t want, ideas for decor, ideas for special thanks for parents, and ideas for the wedding party.

I searched countless websites even after I committed to The Knot. I went to Target and Michael’s and still looked through wedding books. Then my brain exploded. I broke down. I had no ideas. I had no clue what I wanted. I set it aside and stuck to facts. White wedding. Pink and orange accents.

The problem I had was that I was in wedding overload. I had every website, magazine, and DIY wedding books SCREAMING at me. Do this. Don’t do this. Think about this. Don’t forget about this. Ignore this. Remember that.

I put those things in a tote, and set them in the closet. They’ve been sitting in the closet until 2 days ago. That’s 4 months they’ve been sitting stagnant in the closet. The reason I took it out was because I thought I have a pretty good handle on the ceremony and reception, now I can use the tools in the wedding planner and look at more DIY stuff without feeling overwhelmed.

It’s like trying on 50 dresses and not being able to make a decision. It’s a sensory overload. If you can’t make a decision on anything after you’ve looked at countless magazines and websites. Put it all aside and focus on one thing. ONE. For me, it was the invitations. If you can get one thing nailed down, the rest will come to you. I guess what I’m trying to say is, pick out two magazines, one book of ideas, and a planner. They will give you the tools you need to get yourself started.

Remember: just saying the word “wedding” can cost you a lot of money. Try to avoid it if it’s possible. I tested this theory. I’m convinced I proved my point. If you can’t avoid using the word, do NOT be afraid to ask what kind of discounts your vendors offer.
Keep your options open. Look around for the best price. That aisle runner you’re eyeing at David’s Bridal, it’s 50% cheaper on Amazon. The cake topper you’re looking at online, guess what? It’s probably cheaper in the store. Not only that, but you can probably find something cute or quite possibly the same thing at a second hand store or in an antique store.

Your wedding isn’t about how much money you can spend or how you can impress your guests with some lavish 5 hour event with things you’ll just end up throwing away. Your wedding should be about you and your fiancee. Your wedding should reflect your style as a couple. If that style is over-the-top, go for it. If you’re both simple, keep it simple. An event the reflects anything other than what you guys are, will just look pretentious. Your wedding should be fun for everyone involved.

Don’t settle for your big chain store prices. Don’t be afraid to ask for discounts. And more importantly, don’t forget to breathe. Take some time for yourself, and give yourself a break from the wedding planning madness.

This isn’t REALLY a money saving thing completely, but it’s more like my opinion on the flower situation.

This was the first question I asked myself when we started wedding planning. I toyed with the idea of having gardenias, lilies, daisies, and or roses. I didn’t know whether or not to go real or fake. The further into the wedding planning we got, the more I thought about the option of not having flowers all and doing something a little different. My oldest sister sent me a link to a brooch bouquet since we originally were going with a vintage and classy feel. I looked through a long list of Etsy shops, contacted a total of probably 6 shop owners, and finally found one that suited my likes.

I was shocked that I chose the ones I did because I always thought that I would have real flowers. The more I thought about it though, the more I realized that I wanted to have a bouquet I could keep forever and not have to worry about spending extra money to preserve it.

We’re not having floral decorations for the reception or the wedding either unless I decide to make some. I just can’t justify spending money on expensive flowers when they’re probably just going to be thrown away. I’m aware it would add some beauty to the feel of it, but I might as well just be putting $100 bills in the trash. I guess looking at the situation, I did KIND OF save us money because this was a total of $500 compared to the $1,000+ we would have spend buying real flowers. Anyway here’s what we ended up with from the Etsy shop Autumn and Grace Bridal.

I’m really excited about it. It’s different. It’s a keepsake. It made me smile. Autumn’s communication with me about how I wanted the bouquets, corsages, and boutonnieres to look was outstanding! I couldn’t be happier right now!

When I began researching a bunch of DIY projects for the wedding I came across this site. They have a TON of free printable downloads for invitations, thank you notes, “Will you be my….” cards, save the dates, custom monograms, wedding labels and signs, and even holiday cards. I used the photo booth template and created this:

Did the same thing with this that I did with the I Spy games. I printed it on regular paper, glued it to some scrapbook paper, and tied some ribbon to it so it could hang.

Use that site though. They have a lot of inspiration on their site, and a lot of free stuff if you’re not feeling creative enough to create your own wedding invites and what not. And you know what, I’m going to be a little bit honest here and say that I’m a little fucking annoyed that I didn’t see this or this before I bought two of these. I may just return one and print off the bicycle for the second guestbook. Who knows.